


Nocturnal Admissions

by thensepia



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forgotten tea, Hurt/Comfort, I really don't have a scar fetish but here you go, Insomnia, Oliver has unresolved issues, Shower Sex, Stolen Toast, Strip Boggle, Terribly Convenient Cots in the Lair, The Debatable Masculinity of Loofahs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thensepia/pseuds/thensepia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity Smoak couldn’t sleep.  Her insomnia had returned in earnest the last few weeks, though—ever since she’d discovered a bleeding and costumed Oliver Queen in the backseat of her car, asking for her help and her trust. Ever since she signed on with Oliver and found herself in the midst of this whole clandestine craziness.</p><p>As it turns out, Oliver can't sleep either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea & Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fanfic, ever. Please be gentle. (That's what he said.)
> 
> And it's rated E because the explicit sexy-times, they are a-comin'. It was just getting long, so I'm breaking it up.

Felicity Smoak couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t exactly a new problem; she’d had bouts of insomnia her whole life. In all honesty, it was an affliction that probably helped her get through MIT at the top of her class, because if she was going to be awake anyway, she may as well stay up coding all night. The insomnia had returned in earnest the last few weeks, though—ever since she’d discovered a bleeding and costumed Oliver Queen in the backseat of her car, asking for her help and her trust. Ever since she signed on with Oliver and found herself in the midst of this whole clandestine craziness.

So, as in college, Felicity was putting the inconvenience of her affliction to good use. Sure, maybe coming to The Glades by herself in the middle of the night wasn’t the best idea, but she had work to do and sleep was a million miles away anyhow. She sat in the cavernous basement simultaneously retooling Oliver’s firewalls, running automated keyword searches through police and FBI databases, and clicking through her Facebook feed, which, given the hour, was less entertaining than it could be. Why should everyone else get to sleep if she couldn’t?

Caught up in compiling data that might help explain the Undertaking that Oliver was trying so hard to dismantle, she was surprised to hear the electronic lock at the top of the stairs click open. Oliver himself slipped through the door and came down the steps, his shoes ringing dully on the steel grating. He crossed to the soft pool of light cast by the desk lamp and looked at Felicity, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Felicity, it’s 3:30 in the morning. What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding curious rather than critical.

“Well,” she replied, “I can’t sleep, which, realistically, is probably your fault."

“My fault?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She turned in her chair to look at him, tugging the hem of her shirt down. “Yes, your fault. My mild-mannered IT girl life was good about being boring enough to let me sleep, so I totally blame you for the insomnia. Well, not you personally, like, you didn’t call me and wake me up or whatever, but now that I’m on board with your Secret Club of Wacky Fun and Adventures the level of excitement in my life leaves me unable to shut off my brain. Or, you know… my mouth. So… yeah.”

Oliver smiled outright at her, a rare and appreciated sight. “You do have a way with words,” he said teasingly.

“Right?” she said self-deprecatingly.

He chuckled. “Insomnia, huh? I might have an inkling of what that’s like.” He walked around the desk and sat in the chair nearby, turning his attention to her monitors. “What are you working on?”

“Just this multivalent algorithm that sifts through….” She trailed off as he raised another eyebrow at her. “Okay, Cliff’s notes: I’m searching databases. But I’m doing it really, really efficiently,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose and swiveling back around in her chair to tab through screens, checking the progress of her search.

“I don’t doubt that,” Oliver replied softly. She looked back over her shoulder at him as he spoke. His face was partially in shadow, but as he leaned forward slightly in his chair the desk lamp illuminated the planes of his face. He looked at her, cocked his head slightly. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down. I like it,” he said just as softly, and suddenly the whole room felt smaller, warmer, more intimate.

Felicity was taken aback. Oliver Queen was not in the habit of remarking on her appearance, and it threw her. She laughed a little too high to sound natural. “Why Oliver, are you flirting with me?” she asked jokingly, deflecting the sudden closeness.

He paused. “Maybe,” he said enigmatically. He smiled at her again, a soft lilt of his lips upward and a warmth that pooled in his eyes, and Felicity was mesmerized by that small upturn of his mouth, trying to wring the meaning out of it. He spoke again, quietly, drawing her attention back to his eyes. “I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”

“Why, don’t you have any coffee?” she shot back at him.

“I don’t think coffee is going to help either of our insomnia problems,” he told her.

“What can I say? I go straight for the hard stuff. But yes… some tea would be nice.”

Oliver stood and crossed the room, flipping a switch over the sink to turn on the light. Felicity unfolded herself from her desk chair and followed him over to the warm pool of light that spilled around the counter in a close circle.

She watched as Oliver pulled out a box of teabags, turned on the hot plate, filled a kettle. Seeing him perform this quotidian, domestic task warmed something inside her, made her feel tender toward him. It made her wonder about the Oliver underneath the hood and the deflections and the grandiose public persona. Made her wonder how many people, if any, actually _knew_ him.

“So,” she began, wanting to fill the silence, “I have a brain that won’t stop. Everything from the day just churns over and over in my head like a spin cycle. Then I start thinking about how surreal everything feels when you can’t sleep, which pushes me even further away from sleep, and thus the vicious cycle. And here we are, in the middle of the night. So, what I want to know is, to what do you owe the pleasure of being a card-carrying member of the Insomnia Club?” she asked, turning around and hopping up to sit on the counter.

He looked over at her and gave her a small, tight smile. “You know, I keep misplacing that card,” he told her, sorting through the tea.

“And yet, here you are. So, really?”

“Nothing, really,” he said, turning away and taking two green mugs down from the cabinet.

She leaned forward, her hands on the edge of the counter, her tone indignant. “No way, Oliver Queen. It’s 3:30 in the morning, all the bad guys are sleeping, and I have you all to myself, so spill it. Why can’t you sleep?” Felicity demanded.

He sighed. “Let’s just say that I’m prone to bad dreams.”

“Well, that makes sense,” she replied.

“Does it?” He turned to face her.

“Sure. You were marooned on a big jungle-y island for five years. And it’s obvious some pretty horrible stuff happened there, I’m guessing at the hands of some pretty horrible people. And I’d bet money you haven’t seen a therapist about it to spank your inner moppets since you got back.”

He cocked his head at her. “Did Diggle tell you that?”

“What, that you haven’t been to therapy? Please, you practically scream, ‘I revel in unresolved issues!’.”

“No, about the people on the island,” he said, his voice dropping. “I never said anything about people on the island.”

She swallowed. She wasn’t sure she should push, but she was tired of talking around it all. “Well… it’s pretty obvious.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t perfect your crazy ninja skills by being all alone for five years. And your scars… well.”

“Well what?” he asked softly, taking a small step toward her.

She cleared her throat. “Well... you walk around here half-naked like you have a shirt allergy all the time, which, mind you, I’m not complaining…” She trailed off and blushed. “So sue me, I’m human.” Oliver chuckled quietly. “But your scars… they’re obviously an amalgam of defensive wounds and… deliberately inflicted ones.”

“Deliberately inflicted?” he asked, taking another slow step toward her, the line of his abdomen almost touching her leg. She could feel the warmth of him radiating outward toward her in the cold basement.

Felicity pulled back from the edge of the counter, sitting up straight. “Yes.” She reached her hand tentatively out toward him, and when he didn’t move, she touched his chest lightly, up toward the shoulder, directly over a patch of linear scars. She could feel them through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, the rough ridges of skin under her fingertips. “These… these are repeated slices, left to right, very deliberately placed by someone with a large knife. You didn’t do this to yourself,” she said gently. She paused for a moment, staring at his shoulder, and then dropped her hand back to her side and looked up to meet Oliver’s gaze. What she saw there was a heady blend of anger, pain, and what looked curiously like relief.

“Say it,” Oliver said, his voice rough and catching. He reached out and grasped her hand, his fingertips hot, placing her palm over the scars she had just touched, holding it there with his own hand. “Call it what it was,” he told her, quietly pleading.

“Torture,” she said, almost whispering. “You were tortured on the island.”

The look on his face was first abashed, and then strangely joyous. “I…” He trailed off, swallowed, and then started again, his voice calmer. “I haven’t told anyone that. Not explicitly. How did you know?”

Just then the teakettle started whistling, making Felicity jump and pull her hand away. Oliver gave her a lingering look and moved over to the hot plate, turning off the power switch and pouring water into the mugs. He looked up at her, the question still on his face.

Felicity took a shaky breath and folded her hands into her lap, looking down at them. “I have an IQ of 147 and the ability to reason deductively. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

He laughed lightly, a relieving sound after the gravity of the conversation. He added two teabags to the mugs, weighted them down with spoons, and leaned his hip against the counter, looking at Felicity. “Maybe I should start calling you Sherlock.”

“I’d probably be Mycroft—just as smart, but in an annoying way,” she said, making a joke of it. “Anyway, it’s there, observable, if you’re paying attention.”

He stepped in front of her, putting his hand over hers until she looked up at him. “Felicity.” Pause. “Listen.” Pause. He shook his head like he was frustrated. “You’re… you’re not annoying. You’re amazing. Really.” He squeezed her hand where it sat in her lap. “Do you know what a rarity is for someone to actually pay attention?”

“I don’t think you’re lacking for attention, Oliver,” she said, looking down at the warmth of his hand covering hers, noting the veins running across the back of his hand as they spilled out toward his long fingers.

“You’re the first person that has really seen me since I got back. People _look,_ but people don’t _see.”_ He ran his hand lightly up her arm, his other hand coming up to her knee and sliding up the bare skin of her leg, his fingertips stopping at the hem of her shorts. “And I see you, Felicity.” He moved his hand from her shoulder up to the edge of her jaw, running his fingertips back behind her ear, plunging his hand into her curls, his thumb running across her cheek. He stepped into her, looking intently into her eyes before speaking.

“I _see_ you. Behind the business attire and the bubblegum pink lipstick and the self-deprecation, I see you.” He moved even closer, nudging between her knees as she sat on the countertop, and grasping her by the hips, he pulled her into his body. Felicity’s breath caught in her throat, and she put her hands on his arms to steady herself, her fingers digging slightly in to the warm skin of his forearms. Oliver’s eyes dropped to her mouth as he slid his hands up her back, moving his lips slowly to her ear and whispering throatily, “I see the you that is brilliant, and independent, and irreverent. And beautiful.”

Felicity tried to pull back, turning her head away from him, ignoring the way her stomach was clenching and her skin felt on fire. “No, I’m not,” she said, but Oliver took her face in his hands like it was delicate and precious, turning her face back toward him.

“You _are_ beautiful, Felicity—you are so fucking beautiful. And you’re not some pretty, hollow shell—you’re a vibrant, intelligent, clever, complicated, beautiful woman.” His face was mere inches from hers, and she could feel his breath ghosting across her mouth, the hands cupping her face setting her skin alight.

“This is so surreal,” she whispered quietly.

“Chalk it up to the insomnia,” he said, closing the space between their lips.

 

 


	2. The Etiquette of Thank You Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re going to be my undoing,” he said throatily, and Felicity couldn’t help but smile and laugh lightly.
> 
> “Let’s undo each other,” she said.

Everything became impressions.

Fingertips, five pinpoints of heat, sliding up her bare leg. A hand, fisted into her hair, tugging slightly. Rough denim and the softest cotton pressing into her. The fine hairs of a forearm, a quick pulse pounding through the crook of an elbow beneath her palm. And the soft, wet slide of Oliver’s mouth against hers, the quick flick of his tongue against her bottom lip, asking for admittance, bringing her back to the moment. She opened her mouth without thinking and their tongues met, searching, tangling, an almost languid caress of his against hers, a kiss with the promise of all the time in the world inside it.

Feeling emboldened, impatient, Felicity ran her hands up over his shoulders, one hand coming to rest on his neck, where she dug her nails in slightly as she sucked his bottom lip between her teeth, biting it gently and scraping her teeth along it. Oliver made a sound in the back of his throat and suddenly he wrapped his arms around her back, crushing into her, his languid kisses become frantic. The stubble on his chin scratched lightly across her cheek as he kissed back along her ear and down her neck, and she shivered with the opposing sensations, the rough and the soft, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh.

“Felicity,” he whispered throatily, his breath warm and tickling on her ear, sending chills down her back. He ran both his hands up the outside of her thighs, fingertips dragging across her legs, up to the hem of her shorts and then under, digging his fingers into her hips. Felicity’s breath caught in her throat as he kissed her neck just below her ear, then set his teeth against it, lightly, and as he bit her gently she arched her back into him and made a small strangled noise. She lifted the edge of his shirt, running her fingers up over his abdomen, sliding them around him to touch his back, grasping the soft swell of his ass just below the edge of his pants. He pulled back to look at her and kissed her mouth again, teasing her tongue with his, and she slid her hands up along his chest, pushing the edge of his shirt up until he slid it off over his head.

Oliver stood still, letting Felicity’s eyes play over the scars and tattoos that covered his chest. She reached out and touched one scar, then another, the soft pad of her fingertips running across the proud flesh of his old wounds. She looked up at him, saw the trepidation in his eyes, his fear that she was going to be repulsed by the gnarled scars, so she leaned forward to kiss them, one by one, starting with the scars at his shoulder that she had touched earlier. Splaying her fingers across his chest, she ran her fingers down, over his collarbone and down across his pectorals, dragging her nails across them lightly. Oliver’s head fell back slightly, his eyes closing and a soft breath escaping his lips; Felicity leaned forward again and licked a hot, wet stripe first across his left nipple, then the right, taking it between her lips and swirling her tongue around it. She felt Oliver shudder, so she set her teeth against it and worked the pebbled flesh with her teeth and tongue, drawing it out slightly, and he let out a strangled noise of his own, digging his fingers into her hips, pulling her body tightly against him.

Felicity found that Oliver was, in fact, quite happy to see her.

She could feel the hard, thick line of him through his jeans, pressing into her body. It was heady and intoxicating, this knowledge that he was hard for _her,_ for a mild-mannered, geeky IT girl—that _she_ had done this to him. It made her feel powerful, and bold, and more than anything else, it crystalized the desire she felt for him into a pure, white-hot bolt that shot through her. Slipping her glasses off, she folded them and sat them beside the tea, looking back at him. She leaned into him, put her lips to his ear, sucking on his earlobe before whispering to him, “Oliver… I want you to fuck me.”

He shifted his hips into her and groaned, burying his face in her hair and breathing her in. “God, Felicity… yes,” he said into her neck.

She grasped him by the hair at the back of his neck, tugging his head back until he looked her in the eye. “Bed. Now,” she commanded, and at that he picked her up off the counter, her legs wrapped around his waist, and began carrying her toward the cot that sat in the corner, kissing her as he walked. He sat her down on the edge of the bed and slipped his shoes off, and as he stood she reached out and unbuttoned his jeans, unzipping them slowly and tugging them down his hips, looking up at him. Stepping out of them, he leaned over her and kissed her, but she pulled him down onto the cot and climbed atop him, pressing her groin into his, relishing the feel of him beneath her. Still feeling bold, she began unbuttoning her own shirt, sliding it down her arms and tossing it aside. Oliver ran his hands up her sides, his thumbs splaying out to cup her breasts through her bra, the feel of his hands on her skin making her shiver and burn simultaneously. She reached back and unclipped her bra and let it slip from her shoulders, spilling her breasts into his hands, and Oliver ran his thumbs up across her nipples. They hardened under his touch and she threw her head back, letting out a breathy, “Oh, Ollie,” and she could feel his cock twitch against her at the shortened name. He sat up and took her nipple into his mouth and sucked it gently, then nibbled, and she jerked against him, feeling a direct connection between her breast and her clit, her body throbbing, aching to be touched, filled.

Grapsing her to him, Oliver rolled so that Felicity was under him, her legs on either side of his hips, and he made his way down her neck, kissing, grazing his teeth against her skin, licking across her shoulder and down to her breasts, kneading one nipple with his fingers as he took the previously neglected one in his mouth, laving his tongue against it before biting, gently at first and then harder, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a soft moan from her. She toed her shoes off over the edge of the bed and reached down between them to press her hand to his cock, wrapping her fingers around it as much as the fabric of his boxer briefs would allow. It was thick, feverishly hot, and achingly hard, a few drops of precum moistening the fabric there already.

“God…” he muttered, and groaned against her breast. He turned his head to look up at her. “You’re going to be my undoing,” he said throatily, and Felicity couldn’t help but smile and laugh lightly.

“Let’s undo each other,” she said, and Oliver actually _growled,_ then kissed her, hard, slipping his hand down to the waistband of her shorts and unbuttoning them. He worked his way down her body, dragging them down her hips as he did, and then he kissed his way back up her thighs, running a hand over her panties and then dipping his fingers beneath the edge to stroke her. She arched her hips up into his touch and he sank the edge of his teeth into her hip, biting across her hipbone and slipping her panties off and down her legs. As he licked a tentative line up inside her folds her hips bucked and she hissed, “Fuck, Ollie!” He smiled into her and held her thighs in place with one hand while he buried his tongue in her, swirling it slowly back and forth over and around her clit. With his other hand he slid first one, then two fingers inside her, and she was so slick and wet and hot and then she was spasming, one hand fisted in the blanket and the other in his hair, and Felicity came, shouting his name as she writhed and arched underneath him, her head thrown back and her hair spilling out across the bed.

“That is the most beautiful goddamned thing I have ever seen,” Oliver whispered to her as she fell back against the mattress. He kissed his way back up her body and she took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, her tongue seeking his. She tasted herself in his mouth and made a sound in her throat that spilled out and was swallowed up by his lips. Felicity felt him pressed against her, erect and ready, and she slid her hands down his back, dragging her nails down to the edge of his waistband and sliding his underwear down over the curve of his ass.

“I want you inside me, Oliver,” she whispered in his ear, and his breath huffed out in a rush. He helped her slide his boxer briefs off and she grasped his cock in her hand, squeezing slightly, and he made a strangled noise and canted his hips forward into her grip.

“Is it… do we need…?” he whispered against her skin, kissing her neck, her shoulder, his body trembling with need and desire.

“I’m on the Pill,” she whispered back, digging her nails into his ass and relishing the shudder it elicited. He pushed himself up on his elbows and lined himself up with her pliant body, sliding into her slowly, glacially, and she threw her head back and moaned, an honest to god wanton moan, and Oliver stilled inside her, searching her face. She looked up at him, leaned up to kiss him, and, voice low, said, “Fuck me, Oliver, _please.”_

A look of joy and relief crossed his face. “Oh, Felicity,” he exhaled, and then began moving inside her, tentatively at first but then faster, picking up a steady rhythm as he slid nearly all the way out and then back in again, snapping his hips each time he buried himself inside her. Catching his rhythm, Felicity tilted her hips up to meet his with every stroke, and she felt another orgasm building like flames flickering across her skin, a deep, primal pressure building at her core. Oliver shifted, grasped her leg at the knee and pulled it up over his hip, changing the angle and pounding into her, the sound of flesh and the high, tight, frantic rhythm of their breath filling the air.

“Ollie… god…” she cried out, and she came, a beautiful moan escaping her lips as her body quaked around him, and at that Oliver lost all control and exploded, his vision going black as he thrust into her slowly, shallowly, riding both of their orgasms. Small, soft epithets fell from his lips in a breath as the world reknit itself around him. He looked down at Felicity, her hair fanned out around her, her mouth agape and panting. Running his hand across her cheek, along her eyebrow, he kissed her softly, chastely, and rolled to the side of her, grasping her waist and pulling her body alongside his.

“Felicity… that was…”

“Amazing. I know.”

“Beyond amazing.” He moved her hair aside, kissed her shoulder. “That was… well, I have no words.”

She giggled, suddenly, and burrowed into him. “I must remember to send a thank you note.” He smiled against her skin, laughed. “Dear Ollie,” she began, “thank you so much for the mind-shattering multiple orgasms.” He laughed again and flexed his hips into her.

“That would be very polite.”

“I know. Tea is nice, but sex with your hot vigilante boss is even better,” she said, smiling at him.

“The tea!” he exclaimed. “I totally forgot!”

“Trust me, Ollie. It’s really okay,” she said, running her hand over his arm where it was slung across her waist.

He made a small noise and pulled her tighter, canting his hips against her again. As spent as they both were, she could feel his cock twitch against her hip. “Felicity?”

“Yes?”

“I really, really like it when you call me Ollie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the conclusion, though really in the dark recesses of my head this could spin out for a while. Like I said, this is my first fanfic--is it worth continuing? All comments/ criticisms appreciated!


	3. Entangled Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felicity and Oliver deal with the morning after the best way possible--by turning it in to Round 2.

As the night spun out toward dawn, limbs entwined, Felicity and Oliver drifted and finally slept.

Felicity dreamt of an endless beach, warm and golden, a near featureless meeting of sand and water, the waves rolling in and back out again all the way out against the horizon. She walked along, bare feet in the surf, content and unhurried. She sighed in her sleep and wrapped her fingers around Oliver’s.

Oliver did not dream, which, for him, was perfect.

 

. . .

 

Felicity woke slowly, bewildered at first about where she was until in a flash she remembered the night before, remembered Oliver’s long fingers and wicked tongue and sure kisses. He was still wrapped around her, one arm under her head and the other slung around her waist, his leg between hers. She shifted, feeling the press of his chest against her back and his soft, even breaths on her neck, and then blushed when she realized what else was pressed against her. He was hard—in fact, he was _really_ hard, his dick caught between them and pressing along the cleft of her ass, and as she inadvertently shifted again Oliver stirred. Realizing his predicament, he froze, piecing together the previous evening as Felicity had. Wanting to stave off any embarrassment or awkwardness, she rolled her face to the side and placed a soft, chaste kiss on the inside of his elbow where it was cradled under her head.

Oliver let out the breath he had been holding and smoothed his hand down to grasp her hip, pulling her back into him and tilting his own hips into her. She let out a small gasp, that one flex of his hips filling her instantly with desire, and he burrowed his face into her neck and hair and murmured something completely inaudible. Now completely awake, she reached behind her to grip his thigh, digging her nails in, and taking that as encouragement Oliver slowly slid his arm up her side and cupped her breast, kneading the nipple with his fingertips until it stiffened. Felicity gasped and rocked her hips back into him as he kissed the side of her neck, dragging his three-day stubble across the sensitive skin before setting the edge of his teeth along her shoulder and biting gently, making her buck back into him and moan.

Flipping over carefully on the narrow bed, Felicity pressed Oliver’s shoulders to the mattress and slid on top of him, running her tongue up his chest, across his nipple, over the scar tissue just above it, and up to his collarbone. Letting out a shuddered breath, he smoothed his hands up her legs to her hips and squeezed her waist as she nipped at him, pulling her down to grind against his cock. He laughed a clean, light laugh that made her heart happy, and with a voice rough with sleep he said, “Good morning, Felicity.”

“Morning, Ollie,” she replied, her lips against the side of his neck, working her way up to take his earlobe in her mouth and tug on it gently with her teeth. He dug his fingers into her waist and made a strangled noise, pressing his hips up into her.

“Do that again,” he whispered, and she sucked his earlobe into her mouth, rolling her tongue around it before dragging her teeth up along the edge of his ear.

“Ollie,” she breathed into his ear, then again ran her teeth over his earlobe and his neck just behind it.

“Fuck,” he whispered breathily, and she felt his cock twitch against her. She shifted her hips forward and sat up, her palms flat against Oliver’s chest, and as she slid back she angled just right so she took his cock inside her, sliding down upon him slowly and savoring the feeling of enveloping him. Throwing her head back she moaned again, her blonde hair spilling around her shoulders. She ran her hands down his chest, her fingertips brushing over first one patch of scars, then another. Oliver grasped her hand, a pained look crossing his face as he closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, and she felt him go still.

“Oliver… don’t do that. Don’t hide from me. Please.”

He looked back up at her, the haunted look still there. In a low voice, he said, “But… they’re ghastly.”

She bent to his chest, kissed the scar across his pectoral. She rolled her eyes up to meet his as she moved to kiss another one. “They’re part of you, Ollie.” She kissed another one, running her tongue across the puckered skin that ran across the top of his abdomen. “You’re beautiful, and so are your scars.”

His eyes were wide, and shiny, like maybe there were unshed tears pooling there. “You don’t think they’re monstrous?” he asked in a whisper.

Felicity kissed another one, on his shoulder, holding his gaze as she did. “They’re part of what makes you who you are. And I _like_ who you are. _All_ of who you are.” She punctuated the sentiment with a roll of her hips. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, then pushed himself up to a sitting position and wrapped his arms around her back, grasping her tight against him and burying his face in her chest.

“Thank you, Felicity. I… thank you,” he whispered against her skin, and she touched the side of his face until he looked up at her. She bent her head to kiss him, morning breath be damned, and he thrust his tongue against hers like he was trying to crawl inside her, heated and fervent, his hands sliding over her back, her shoulders, and finally down to cup her ass in his hands, rocking her forward and back. “Thank you,” he murmured again, flicking his mouth across one nipple, then the other. She rode him back down to the mattress, their mouths entwined, and then she sat back up, arching her body against him, Oliver still sheathed inside her. He groaned, then said softly, “You feel so good,” running his fingertips over her thighs as she moved above him.

Rolling her hips back and forth on top of him, she soon found a rhythm she liked, controlling the speed and the angle. Unable to resist touching her, Oliver steadied her hip with one hand and, with the other, slid his fingers to where their bodies met, pressing his thumb against the hot, slick nub of her clit. Felicity moaned at the extra contact, flicking her hips up to rub herself against Oliver’s fingers with every stroke. She was muttering, too quietly to discern actual words, one long jumbled breath as she took her pleasure from him.

“You’re so amazing, and you feel so fucking good. I’m not going to last much longer,” he told her breathily, and she smiled, nodded her understanding and moved her hips faster, riding him relentlessly and pressing herself into his fingers until she arched her back suddenly and cried out, his name spilling from her lips. Oliver felt her tighten around him, impossibly slick and hot, and the rhythm of her release clenching his cock was more than he could stand. He arched up into her and came himself, spilling himself in spurts, only realizing after emptying himself inside her that he was whispering, “Thank you… thank you…” over and over again like a prayer.

Felicity collapsed on top of him rather ungracefully, her hair spilling across his face. She was silent for a moment, and then giggled. “It was my pleasure,” she said, giggling again, and he felt her body clench around him where he was still inside her. The sensation made him writhe, which in turn made her writhe, and soon both of them were giggling and squirming until she rolled off of him, breathless, saying, “I can’t take any more!”

He rolled toward her, brushing her hair back out of her face and looking at her fondly. He was smiling, a real smile that reached all the way up to his eyes and lit up his whole face. “Thank you,” he told her, still smiling, and she kissed his fingertips.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled back at him. “That was a much better way to wake up than the alarm on my phone,” she giggled. She ran her fingertips across the scar on his arm, the one from the gunshot that led him to the backseat of her car. He didn’t flinch, and now there was no haunted look in his eyes as she traced the edges of the scar. She kissed it and smiled up at him.

“So. I need breakfast. And a shower. Mainly the shower. But definitely then breakfast. Pancakes. No, French toast. And an omelet. And coffee. Lots of coffee. It’s breakfast time, right?” she asked, the time an afterthought. “I just realized I actually have no idea what time it is. Guess that’s the side effect of an underground lair.”

He laughed and reached down alongside the bed for his pants, fishing his phone out of the pocket. Hitting the button to turn on the screen, he groaned. “Ugh, it’s only 7am,” he said, dropping the phone back on the floor.

“And breakfast calls!” she said excitedly. “Wait. You do have a shower in this place, right?”

Laughing, he said, “Yes, we do. Crime fighting is dirty work.”

Grabbing a handful of his ass and squeezing, she smiled a wicked grin at him.

“I’ll say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this installment! Also, Felicity and Oliver are clearly not done with one another in my head, so there will be more.


	4. The Masculinity of Loofahs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her, a soft brush of lips against hers, and whispered against her mouth, “You are so amazing, Felicity.”
> 
> “You aren’t so bad yourself, Oliver,” she whispered back, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and sucking on it. Oliver groaned and grasped her by the thighs, canting his hips up toward her, and she could feel him hard and ready against her. “And frankly you have an astonishing recovery period,” she told him, and he buried his head in her shoulder and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has asked for more of this one! I fully admit I have no idea what I'm doing, besides having lots of dirty thoughts about Oliver & Felicity together. Like I said, this is my first fanfic, and it's totally un-betaed and all that, so apologies for mistakes.
> 
> The next chapter should have some plot. Maybe. This one was supposed to, but I got all... distracted.

Oliver picked Felicity up out of bed and hoisted her up over his shoulder as she let out a squeal. “What are you doing, you crazy man?!” she demanded as Oliver started carrying her off toward the bathroom.

“You wanted a shower, you’re getting a shower,” he replied.

“Put me down, you Neanderthal!,” her demand tempered by the giggles she couldn’t hold back.

“I wouldn’t say you’re speaking from a place of much authority,” Oliver said, the smile evident in his voice. Face hanging down Oliver’s back, Felicity reached down and slapped Oliver’s ass, one quick, light smack right across the meat of his right cheek. He jumped, jostling her, and she laughed. “You get testy when you’re hungry,” Oliver noted, and she swatted his ass again. He laughed as he grasped her legs and pulled her down off his shoulder to his waist, holding her up with his hands on her ass. She wrapped her legs around him and kissed him, her arms clinging to his shoulders, and he walked a few more steps to the bathroom and pushed the door open with her body. He flipped the light on, pressed her up against the tile wall and she hissed, arching her back, and he kissed her, their mouths sliding together, tongues pressing and slipping against one another. Oliver reached beside them into the shower and turned the water on and then, bracing his hands under Felicity’s ass again, spun them into the shower stall and pressed her back against the wall again. The water from the showerhead above them flowed down their bodies, just this side of too hot, and Oliver licked a rivulet up Felicity’s chest, between her breasts and up the side of her neck. She arched her back again and moaned and Oliver pressed against her harder, holding her in place with his hips as he reached up to take Felicity’s face in his hands. He smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her, a soft brush of lips against hers, and whispered against her mouth, “You are so amazing, Felicity.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself, Oliver,” she whispered back, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and sucking on it. Oliver groaned and grasped her by the thighs, canting his hips up toward her, and she could feel him hard and ready against her. “And frankly you have an astonishing recovery period,” she told him, and he buried his head in her shoulder and laughed, a sound she relished.

“You’re very inspiring in that department,” he said, his mouth ghosting across her clavicle, soft lips and the wet heat of his tongue mingling with the hot water. There were drops of water clinging to the dark line of his lashes, and she ducked her head to press her lips to them. Oliver sighed and rolled his hips, rubbing himself against her.

Her breath caught, hung up on the feel of his cock pressing into her. “Yes, please, Ollie, I want you inside me,” Felicity whispered, slipping her tongue around the edge of the helix of his ear. He groaned again, adjusted her against him, his hands strong and sure on her thighs, and slid her down onto him before pinning her back against the shower wall with his hips.

“Fuck, Felicity,” he said in a breath, and supporting her with his arms he began to rock his hips back and to thrust forward into her, the wet sounds of their bodies meeting swallowed up by the steady stream of water enveloping them. She scrabbled for purchase, her legs slipping from his waist as he moved inside her, their wet bodies slick against the tile and against one another.

Oliver pulled back and sat her down on her feet, kissing her greedily, his hard cock pressed between them. “This isn’t ideal,” he whispered, running his hands across her back and up along the sides of her waist. She flashed him a look, a quick, dirty expression of pursed lips, and she turned in his arms, putting her hands against the wall of the shower and leaning forward, pressing her ass into him. She flipped her wet curls back over one shoulder and looked over the other at him.

“How’s this?” she asked, rolling her own hips against him, and his breath huffed out. Using his hand to line himself up, he slid back into her from behind, and she let out a soft moan. He ran his hands up her back and down her sides to her hips, where he grasped her and started pushing into her, pulling back, quickly finding a rhythm and guiding her hips back to meet each thrust. She dropped her head and arched her back, her hair streaming down her shoulders, dark from the water. “God, Ollie, right there,” she said, her hands splayed out against the tile. Oliver leaned forward and pressed kisses to her spine, his hips still driving into her, the wet sound of their bodies against each other now louder than the shower, the rhythmic _slap, slap_ of flesh on flesh, moans spilling out of Felicity and soft guttural grunts falling from Oliver’s mouth until Felicity threw her head up, bowed her back, and practically shouted, “Fuck, Ollie!” as she came, her hips stilling and her body clenching around Oliver’s cock. A couple of more thrusts and Oliver himself was spilling into her, her name in broken hitches spilling from his mouth as he pulsed inside her.

With a long groan, he pressed his body up against hers, pressing her forward into the wall of the shower, and brushing her wet hair aside, he buried his face in her shoulder. He kissed her there, ran his lips up her neck, sucking on her earlobe and then the shell of her ear, his teeth clicking against the industrial piercing set into the cartilage. She shuddered against him, her head dropping back to rest on his shoulder.

“Damn, Oliver,” she said, her voice still breathy. “This might be my favorite shower, like, ever.”

He laughed against her, wrapping his arms around her body. “Mine too.” He kissed her cheek and turned their bodies slightly, reaching behind him to grab soap and a loofah. Holding Felicity against his chest, he began soaping her body, running the loofah down her neck, circling around and across each breast and down her stomach.

She slipped her arm back around Oliver’s neck. “Mmmm,” she said against him, her eyes closed and her head resting against his shoulder. He soaped her arms, down her waist, and cupped his hand down around the soft thatch of her pubic hair, one finger slipping teasingly between her folds. She jerked against him, laughing, and grabbed the loofah from him, turning to soap his chest, up over his shoulders and back down the planes of his abdomen. He closed his eyes as her hands roamed over him, and she stepped around behind him to wash down the wide expanse of his back, around his waist, and down across the swell of his ass. She stepped closer to him, her breasts pressed into him, and slid her hands around his torso to gently take his dick in her hand, soaping it, her fingers running from root to tip, swirling around the soft tissue. He moaned, reached out to touch the wall as if to steady himself, and took her hand in his, squeezing it around him. She could feel his cock start to swell again and hastily withdrew her hand.

“I’m not trying to tease you, though I am amazed that you aren’t light headed by now,” she said, slipping around his side to face him again.

He leaned over and kissed her, a chaste press of lips to hers. “I appreciate your attention to detail,” he said, turning her by the shoulder and running the loofah across her back.

“That’s me. I’m very detail oriented. Speaking of… can you explain to me why Starling City’s notorious vigilante, the one who strikes fear in the hearts of bad people all across this city… why he has a loofah in his shower?”

“What’s wrong with my loofah?” Oliver asked, mock indignation in his voice.

She turned to look at him again, gathering her wet hair in her hand. “First, can’t say it’s amazingly masculine that you even know what a loofah is. Secondly, a loofah? Really? You come back to your industrial underground lair after tangling with hitmen and drug dealers and murderers, and you scrub down with a loofah?” The smile on her face took the sting from the words, but the sarcasm was palpable.

Oliver pinned her to the wall again, fighting a smile. “Hey, sometimes it takes a lot of scrubbing to get all the bad guy off.”

Rolling her hips against him, Felicity smiled another wicked grin. “Whereas me… well, I’m quite enjoying getting the good guy off.”


	5. The Unexpected Seduction of Boggle

Finally showered and dressed, Felicity and Oliver headed out for the breakfast that she was relentless about. Once they slipped through the basement door, though, the reality of the situation hit them at the same time. Instead of streaming with sunlight, the windows high up in the lofted ceiling of the club were dark, and waiters and bartenders were prepping for business. The staff members closest raised eyebrows at the pair but said nothing as they continued about their tasks. Felicity stepped around Oliver and reached in her purse to check the time on her phone.

“ _Fuck._ Fuck!Ollie, it’s **7PM,** not **AM.** We… we slept though the whole day!” she hissed quietly to Oliver.

“Apparently,” he said drily.

Felicity made a face. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated. Oh!” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my god. I missed work! And I didn’t feed my cat! And this totally looks like a walk of shame!” she whispered, trying to hide behind Oliver as servers walked back and forth to the supply areas behind the bar.

Oliver turned around, putting his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. “Deep breath, Felicity. Okay?”

Felicity breathed in, held it, and then let it out slowly before nodding.

“Okay. First, there’s no shame here. At least not on my part.”

Felicity looked stricken. “That’s not what I meant…” she said softly.

“I know. I’m teasing you. Secondly, we both needed the sleep, so it’s hard to feel too bad about it. And I kind of have an in with your boss, so don’t worry about missing work. And we will go feed your cat as soon as I’ve fed you.” He paused.  “And also? My sarcasm is _always_ appreciated.”

She rolled her eyes but still smiled at him, unable to deny it. “Fine. Feed me.”

“You got it,” he said, grabbing her by the hand and heading for the door.

 

. . . . .

 

Pushing her empty plate away, Felicity reached over to swipe a piece of Oliver’s toast. “Thank god for the ‘Breakfast anytime!’ contingent of fine American diner cuisine!” she said, smiling across the table at him. He smiled back.

“Definitely one of the benchmarks of advanced civilization,” he answered, stealing Felicity’s coffee and finishing it in one swig.

“Hey!” she said indignantly.

“That’s the toast tax in effect,” he told her, shrugging. She laughed and tucked her feet up underneath her in the booth, and as the waitress walked by and refilled her coffee, she stuck her tongue out at Oliver, pulling the mug close to her and cradling it between her hands.

“Okay then, Mr. Queen. I, as a citizen of this realm, refuse to pay your exorbitant toast taxes. They are nothing but highway robbery. And yet, there is another piece of toast sitting right there, unloved, unwanted, upon your plate. I, Ms. Smoak, dearly love toast, and have a perfect place for it to reside, where it will provide me nourishment and help me regain my strength after such a strenuous evening of pleasuring you.” She patted her belly for good effect, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Perhaps we could strike an accord?”

Oliver smiled and narrowed his eyes, pulling his plate closer to him as if to protect his toast from hostile takeover. “So what are you suggesting, Ms. Smoak? A barter?”

“Mmm… If it would please you, yes.” She smirked at him, raising her eyebrow.

Oliver grinned at her wickedly. “Oh, I can think of many things that would please me.”

“Well, do tell, sir,” she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice.

Oliver leaned forward to meet her, his forearms resting on the table. He reached one hand out, running his finger delicately over the back of Felicity’s hand as it cradled the coffee mug. “Well, I think that, _after_ you finish my toast, we should head back to your place.” He ran his fingertip down the length of her finger slowly. “We should feed your poor, neglected cat, and then…”

Felicity shivered and leaned closer. “And then…?” she asked softly.

“And then… we should play Boggle.” Oliver leaned back in his seat.

Felicity looked nonplussed. “Boggle?” she asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Boggle,” Oliver said, a note of finality in his voice.

“O-kay… Boggle it is.”

 

 

. . . .

 

“Ollie, when you said Boggle, I was missing some crucial details of your plan,” Felicity said, indignation in her voice.

“You have to know all the factors before you start haggling over something as important as toast,” he replied lightly.

“Still.” She shifted on the bed, arms wrapped around herself. “First, I was unaware that you are a Boggle savant. Seriously, ‘mechanic’? You’re like the Bobby Fischer of Boggle. And secondly… strip Boggle? Really?”

Oliver laughed, a deep, intimate laugh, swinging his legs around the side of the bed to lean forward. “Well, Ms. Smoak, you agreed to my terms. And I believe that last round entitles me to the last bits of your clothing.”

Felicity stuck her tongue out at Oliver, and then stood, slipping off her holdout shoe before slowly sliding her fingers under the sides of her panties, dragging them down over her hips, watching Oliver’s face as she stepped closer to him and dropped them to the floor, standing bare in front of him. She watched his eyes track up and down over her body until he looked up and met her eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice soft and reverent, the teasing gone. He reached tentatively out to touch her hip. Felicity blushed and looked down, her hair spilling around her shoulders, and Oliver reached up to cup her face. “You _are,”_ he said willing her to believe it, running his fingertips down her neck, thumbs tracing her collarbone before sliding the flats of his palms across her breasts, down her abdomen, and around her hips, hands coming to rest on the backs of her thighs. She sighed, hands going out to his shoulders, and Oliver leaned forward and kissed her stomach, just above her navel, his lips and then his tongue grazing across the soft skin.

Felicity let out a soft moan, one hand threading through Oliver’s hair, and when he pulled back she leaned forward to kiss him, her lips soft against his. She moved forward to press him back into the bed and urged him to slide up it, her hands splayed across his naked chest, one hand absently flinging the forgotten Boggle game to the floor in a crash of skittering blocks. No longer flinching or drawing away, Oliver was content to let her run her hands across his torso, fingers exploring the topography of his scars. He lay back with his hands behind his head, letting Felicity map his body. She took her time, running the pad of her fingers across the slick scars, then slowly tracing the outline of his tattoos with the edge of her nail, making him break out in gooseflesh. She ran her finger over to his nipple, circling it slowly, watching the flesh pebble under her touch, and then she leaned down and licked a slow, hot stripe across it. Oliver’s breath caught in his throat, and she kissed her way across his chest to the other nipple, tracing the outline of it with her tongue before taking it in her mouth to roll the point of it between her teeth, eliciting a soft moan from him.

She slowly kissed her way down his chest, across his stomach, soft brushes of lips interrupted by the wet trail of her tongue, punctuated occasionally by the barest edge of her teeth as she made her way down his torso. When she came to his waistband, she ran a hand up his leg and across the front of his pants, feeling his cock straining against his zipper. She pressed her face to it, mouthing at the shape of him through the taut fabric, breathing out a hot breath against him.

“Fuck… Felicity…” Oliver moaned, his hips canting up toward her. He fisted the duvet in his hands, and she pressed him back to the bed, reaching up to flick the button of his pants open with one hand. Dragging his zipper down at an excruciating pace, she watched as he tried not to writhe on the bed.

She slid her hands up his hips and then down, dragging at his sides with her fingernails and hooking his pants and boxer briefs at the same time. “Up,” she said softly, and he raised his hips off the bed so she could slide his pants off, leaving him as naked as she was. She just sat back on her heels for a moment and looked at him, taking in the curves of his muscles, the narrowed waist, the planes of his chest, the v that led down to the swell of his cock, full and heavy and lying against his stomach, waiting for her. She met his eyes. “You’re beautiful too, Ollie.”

Oliver shrugged. “I’m damaged,” he said quietly.

“No. Listen to me. You’re amazing. _All_ of you. You’re gorgeous, yeah, but you’re also a really amazing guy with an incredibly large heart, and that’s the part that matters. The part that _makes_ you beautiful.”

Oliver reached out and grasped Felicity’s hand, drawing it to his mouth where he pressed his lips to it. “Thank you,” he said, so softly it was barely audible.

“Ollie. I see you, too,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. He made a wounded noise and then suddenly wrapped his arms around her, rolling them until he was on top of her, kissing her lips, her neck, his hands tangled in her hair, his mouth moving across her skin urgently. She met his fervor, drawing her nails across the skin of his back, biting at his shoulder as he sucked a mark into the skin of her collarbone. He ran his hands down to her hips and lined himself up, sliding into her with one long motion, his hips coming to rest against her body. Felicity wrapped a leg around his thigh and breathed into his ear, “You feel so fucking good inside me, Ollie.” Her voice made his whole head tingle, and he reached up to grasp the headboard, using it for leverage as he pulled almost entirely out of her and then slid back home, Felicity’s breath rushing out of her. He began to move in earnest, his body rocking forward to meet hers. She twisted her hips up to meet his thrusts, small gasps and moans spilling from her mouth, her hands sliding down to grab his ass, pulling him into her even harder.

“Lis, god, so good…” Oliver muttered, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he snapped his hips into her at a relentless pace.

“Ollie, god, Ollie… right there,” she answered, pushing up to counter his thrusts, their bodies meeting with a frenetic rhythm, the sounds of flesh against flesh mixed up with both of their breaths and gasps and moans, and with a deep moan and an arched back, Felicity shouted, “Oliver!” as she came, her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as her body dissolved and reknit itself around her.

Oliver stilled, watching her orgasm wash across her, and when she opened her eyes he was smiling at her. He ran a hand down her side and pulled her leg up beside them, holding it behind her knee and creating a new angle, and grabbing the headboard again he began sliding back into her, chasing his own orgasm. The angle was different, more shallow but sharper somehow, and Oliver built back up to a relentless pace, a litany of murmured curses falling from his lips. Felicity ran her hands down his chest, watching his muscles contracting as he pumped himself in and out of her body.

“Fuck, Ollie, you’re going to make me come again,” she said breathlessly, her words punctuated by the rhythm of their bodies.

He growled in response, a wordless, deep sound, and he wrapped one arm around her back, pulling her up to him, and the change in angle was all it took for her to shout his name, her fingernails drawing eight lines down either side of his back as she orgasmed again, her body quivering and shaking as Oliver finally let out a strangled, “Oh, Lis,” and came as well, his hips driving forward once, twice, and slowly a third and final time as he stilled inside her. He leaned down to kiss her, a soft brush of lips, and she reached her arms around him to pull him down to lay beside her. She ran her fingers along his face, along the line of his jaw, and leaned forward to kiss him again, a soft, chaste press of her lips to his.

“Amazing,” she said softly.

“I concur,” he replied, a hazy smile on his lips.

“Nobody’s ever done that before.”

“Done what?” he asked.

“Made me come twice. I…god. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like my body dissolved into pure molecules of light.” She laughed.

“See?” Oliver asked, pulling her closer to him. “Boggle’s not so bad after all, is it?”

She laughed again. “Definitely worth it for the toast. A win-win, really.”

He laughed too, a deep laugh she could feel in his chest. “I’m glad.”

“Oh. Also?”

“Yeah?” he asked.

Felicity poked him in the chest. “You? You’re not damaged. Also, consider how much people pay for jeans that are already distressed. You’re, like, vintage. And beautiful. And really very, very talented.”

Oliver laughed again, kissing her while smiling and then burying his face in her hair. “You’re amazing too, Ms. Smoak.”

“I’m glad you think so. And if you could, be sure to tell my boss that when he’s all over me tomorrow asking where I was today.”

Oliver hugged her against him, drawing her head under his chin and twining his legs with hers. He let out a contented sigh, and then laughed gently. “Don’t worry, Felicity… I’m pretty sure he’s going to be all over you for the foreseeable future.”

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. Sorry it was all drawn out... life gets in the way, you know? I hope the conclusion was worth waiting for.
> 
> Any mistakes are my own. I am aware of the existence of things like betas, but this is all on me.
> 
> I also hope you liked it, especially since this was my first foray into fanfic. Probably not my last though, I suspect. This site is like crack. In a good way.


End file.
